


Blue Collar Whiskey

by CallaMae



Category: Justified
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3798733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallaMae/pseuds/CallaMae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day Lottie May Givens died dawned like any other. The sky was blue as a cornflower, the sun shining brilliant and gold. It was a beautiful day to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Day Lottie May Died

The day Lottie May Givens died dawned like any other. The sky was blue as a cornflower, the sun shining brilliant and gold. It was a beautiful day to die.

If a person knew, as Lottie did, they wouldn't see tomorrow they might wish the weather to act accordingly. For the sky to break and weep for the loss of them, that everyone who looked outside to see the grey clouds and melancholy rain would know the earth was mourning and just maybe they'd mourn too.

But Lottie stood at her window staring with a child's wide-eyed wonder at the sky. It was so blue, so very blue. And after years of suffering and pain, most of which she caused, she wondered how she could live without noticing, how she could've forgotten how beautiful it was. She didn't want rain or melancholia, she didn't want the last thing she saw to be gloom – she wanted to see beauty.

For the hundredth time she checked the phone she'd kept hidden, the phone only Boyd had the number to, waiting for him to tell her what to do. He'd either fix the problem, unlikely, or tell her to fix her own. She looked over her shoulder at the Mexican sitting on her couch, gun in hand gaze set on her waiting for his own orders, quickly growing suspicious of her idleness, of her hands out of his sight. Not that it mattered, she'd read Boyd's misgivings and hid the phone beneath the leaves of the plant on the windowsill.

"Do you like pancakes?" she asked, not having a name to go with his very serious face. She didn't know why but it felt like such an important thing to know this stranger's name, to add it to the seemingly unending list of people she killed. Cause that's what she was, all she was, the taker of lives. She used to feel like a god, the decider of fate, powerful, important - like her life meant something to the universe. Now she felt hollow, like a part of her had been taken with every life and there was nothing left inside her anymore.

She didn't mind his hovering, his useless suspicion that she'd try to find a weapon even though he'd searched the house for guns and taken the knives. This scenario had played out enough times in her life everything was a weapon if she needed it to be. "Want me to make coffee?" she asked not needing to look over her shoulder from how closely he stood at her side.

She watched him eye the glass coffeepot weighing how likely she was to use it against him. "Not much of a coffee drinker."

Her eyes were hard when he met her stare. "Orange juice it is, then," she said dryly. "I'll be sure to grab plastic cups."

She felt his stare as she finished breakfast and set the table, had to move around where he stood to get to the refrigerator and then the cups, then he painstakingly watched her pour the juice before taking the bottle and returning it to the fridge himself.

"You're not gonna tell me your name?" she asked still wanting to know, needing it cause after Boyd's text his phone was sure to go off signaling her own death.

He met her gaze at the loud pulsing of his phone, his expression unchanging as he stood from the table and answered. She could count to twenty in Spanish, that was her crowning achievement of the language, so she didn't catch a lick of what this nameless man said. His body language, though, she read clearly; he even made the mistake of turning his back on her as though to keep her from hearing the conversation. And that was all she needed, the moment of opportunity she'd been waiting for.

By the time his mind registered movement in his peripheral it was too late, she already had the chair in hand and was swinging it against his back.

The amount of pieces it shattered into surprised her, she'd only been able to hang onto one of the pegs from the back, but there were several fractured parts scattered around him. And she was struck by her own scattered mind so similar to the broken wood at her feet, with splinters so small it would never be whole again.

And then she was left with what her body had done while her mind had paused, as if her flesh wasn't ready for the end. She had his gun, her piece of wood embedded in his stomach, his phone crushed under her foot, and her finger tightening on the trigger.

"Put the gun down, Lottie."

She smiled only cause of the irony; the sun had risen and she knew it'd be her last, and it really would figure that it'd be him to ensure it. "Army Ranger here to be my knight in shinin' armor," she sneered not taking her eyes from the bleeding man at her feet. "Here to act like you gave a shit?"

"You know I did," Tim answered moving past a doorway he'd walked through several times before, and she'd smiled then too; a beautiful tempting thing, beckoning him further into her home. She didn't have a pretty smile anymore, it was a twisted slash on her face, the sight of which had his hands tightening around his sidearm.

She was barely thinking, throwing insults at him where they fit, her mouth spewing poison her mind wasn't sure she wanted to give. And he took it all like the sturdy rock he was, not bending under her fury not molding to her will, daring to inch closer.

This was his fault. He'd opened her up, bared her soul, and then left it to rot. Now she was nothing more than a carcass, and he hadn't even had the decency to pick her bones; he'd gotten a taste of how foul she was, revealed the emptiness inside her, and then he'd left her trying to put herself back together. It was Daryl Crowe that'd eaten what was left of her, that was able to stomach it. And yet there Tim stood not realizing how patranizin he sounded, not knowing he was talking to a corpse.

"You can still walk away from this," he said trying for reason, not yet realizing there was no reasoning left in her. "It doesn't have to end in prison, you just gotta put the gun down." He was almost to the kitchen now, he was thinking it might not end in him shootin her – praying to a god he wasn't sure he believed in that he wouldn't have to. He'd found himself wanting to kill many Kentucky natives but she'd never been one of them no matter that he knew she deserved it. "I can't help you if you kill him," he tried again.

Without any fear left she looked up, let him see her eyes so dark they looked bottomless and empty, let him see the wreckage. "Why's he different from any of the others?" she asked needing that answer cause she should've shot the man by now, but she still didn't know his damn name.

Months ago she'd made the mistake of lookin back, saw the bodies she left her wake, all the lives she'd ruined by being alive. And she stacked those corpses like bricks, piling their cold flesh higher until it became a wall that reached the sky and blocked out the sun. She'd always been darker than night, no light in her just what shined on her. And with it now gone, eclipsing her in a sightless darkness, she was damned enough to do what she hadn't been able to before.

In one quick motion she'd raised the gun and pulled the trigger, seeing Tim's body jerk and feeling a sick victory at having been good enough to hit him. And then she was knocked back, her grip loosening on the gun, her hold on life slipping, as a bullet hit her dead in the chest.


	2. Before The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place before the fifth episode of the first season. Also, this story won't really go in chronological order, so the chapter titles are important cause it'll give an idea of where I am in the timeline; and I'll also leave a note saying what episode I'm in specifically. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy.

Lottie May found her brother in a bar; found, not stumbled upon, cause she'd been looking for him specifically. It was cleaner than any backwater tavern found in Harlan, but it still held that Eastern Kentucky charm of being a run down piece of shit with filmy glasses and sleazy hillbillies.

He stuck out like a sore thumb wearin a cowboy hat and tie amidst the muscle shirts tattoos and greasy hair. He was put together, clean, handsome, and she smiled at seein she'd found her man.

Raylan's head turned when she slid onto the barstool next to him, his chest rose as he breathed in the sweet smell of her shampoo, and his eyes trailed down the length of her body finding the parts of her he liked most before he turned back to his glass listening to her order her drink of choice; Wild Turkey. Men were simple creatures, their attention easily caught by the movement of a pretty woman and it was easily kept by a pretty woman who could drink; especially this man.

"To survivin' another day," Lottie said clinking their glasses together and downing half her bourbon without so much as a wince.

And with that simple interaction, saying she knew he was there and she was up for conversation, had him taking a drink himself before he turned to her. She didn't quell his charm, which he gave effortlessly in a grin or the raising of his brows or his smooth voice, rather she encouraged it. For the time being Raylan was under the impression he didn't know her, he'd wear the mask of a brother soon as he found out and she wanted to know what kind of man he was with a stranger.

Maybe not a complete stranger. The longer he stared at her pretty face seein her dark eyes that squinted when she smiled, her high cheekbones and her strong jaw, the way she swung her hips cause she'd caught his attention the moment she came through the door – there was something about her that struck the deepest sense of familiarity in him. Seein her then in the half lit bar making both of them look tanner than they really were, flirtin with her, it was like déjà vu. "We haven't met before?" he asked taking a drink.

She'd been wondering if he'd remember any part of her, if he'd see parts of himself in her; it wasn't enough to turn him off, they did have different mothers. If anything he was more interested and she just leaned against the bar half grinning as she looked at his handsome face. "I think I'd remember the hat," she answered not entirely truthfully. Last time she'd seen him, and she barely remembered that, he hadn't been in the habit of wearing a cowboy hat, and that'd been so long ago neither could claim to know the other. It was a half truth, her favorite kind.

And she gave a few more. Working at a family business, in Kentucky that almost always meant criminal activity and she neither mentioned that it wasn't her family nor that it was in fact illegal doings. "I work sales and marketing. Met with potential buyers today," she told him, steering his mind towards a business more along the lines of a store rather than drugs.

He hadn't liked the sound of a family business, knowing full well what kind of business went on in Harlan – he'd been raised on it. But she didn't look the part, she stuck out almost as much as he did; dark jeans a tight black shirt, heels, her makeup done light. And he was finding she was exactly what he needed to take his mind off Ava. "How'd that go?" he asked moving onto his fourth glass of whiskey.

She pushed the hair off her shoulder to show him the bruise on her jaw, the sight of which had his hand tightening around his glass. "Not so well," she admitted, getting the reaction she wanted out of him. "Though I must confess the two men are worse off." His brows rose at her coy face, feedin right into her hand. "The one that hit me's gotta broken hand, and I think I broke the other's nose." It was exactly what he wanted to hear, a girl who could drink and take care of herself; a girl who was smilin at him interested in more. "You gonna arrest me?" she asked biting her lip as she looked up through her lashes at him, playin him for a fool.

He smiled at her charming face and took another drink feelin' it burn his already warm chest. "If they press charges," he told her, gaze falling to the young man sittin at a table behind them with his sights set on the woman at Raylan's side. She didn't seem to notice a few men had looked her way, but this one had kept his eyes on her back and it had Raylan's hand itchin to reach for his gun.

She had in fact noticed, at least she'd noticed the direction of Raylan's gaze; his view of women left something to be desired, she might've been smaller than him but she didn't need protecting, and cause of her breasts he assumed she did. "And what would you do after you got me in handcuffs?" she asked seein exactly what she wanted in the return of his gaze and the bobbing of his adam's apple as he swallowed, further wrapping him around her finger.

"You sure know how to work a man up," he said taking note of the gleam in her dark eyes that had him comparin her grin to that of a fox. Cause he was seein then she'd sat beside him with a purpose, and he was struck again by the feeling he knew her.

She downed the rest of her glass, signaling to the bartender she didn't want another, all without taking her eyes off Raylan. "And turn 'em down," she said watching his brows crease in confusion and disappointment. "I gotta long drive, should probably call it a night." She made a show of getting her purse and fishing out her wallet, knowing what he'd do before he decided it himself.

"I got it," he told her allowing himself to place his hand over hers to still their moving before he grabbed the wallet out of back pocket and threw a few bills on the counter as he stood. Staring down at her with her neck craned to look up at him she looked even younger, not even twenty, and then she slid out of her chair brushing against him and she looked older again. Something in him was telling him softly it was a good thing she'd ended it, and that he would've regretted the hell out of taking her back to his room like he'd originally thought. "Come on, I'll walk you out."

She followed him out of the warm stale smelling bar and into the cool night, walking slowly with him at her side. She matched him stride for stride, almost smiling at their similar swanky gait. "Thanks for the drinks," she said when they reached her silver Grand Cherokee, thinking surely he'd get it then.

"I had a car just like this," he said leaning a hip against the side. "An older model, different color, but the same make." It'd been the car he'd driven out of Harlan twenty years earlier, he was almost surprised to find she was the owner of one, another thing to add to the list sayin he did in fact know her. And she stood barely an inch in front of him with a knowing smile curled on her mouth as she stared up at him, lookin like she was waiting patiently for him to understand. "Who are you?"

Her smile grew at his confusion knowing that answer was in the back of his mind. And she stepped closer pressing a kiss to his cheek, narrowly missin his mouth and feelin his own lips purse against her chin. She could feel his breath on her face from how close they were when she moved to look at him, seeing his eyes fall to her mouth. "It was good seein you Ray," she told him softly before turning her back on him to climb into her car. Whatever pleasantness had been on his face was gone when her headlights shone on his face, replaced instead with wondering and concern as an answer gave way in his mind.

Come next morning as he sat at his desk waiting for his computer to load he was hopin for two things; the first being that he hadn't been thinking of his sister in terms of takin her home the night before, and the second was that she didn't have a criminal record. He was wrong on both accounts.


	3. Ten Minutes Before Lottie May Died

He should've hated her. From the day she first stepped foot in the marshal's office armed with the sway of her hips and the flash of a smile, manipulating Raylan like clay, Tim should've known the devil she was. Her eyes were too dark and it wasn't just their inky color, there was a tangible blackness he could just barely see behind the façade she wore – an impending storm he'd always known would break.  
But he hadn't known he was the cold air to her hot, and that while he fell and she rose he'd left her spinning out of control. What he wouldn't have given to take it all back, to have turned down every advance she'd thrown at him, to have stopped himself from breaking her.

If it was true that a person was defined by the things they did then Lottie May was as worse as they came. She was prone to violence, angry, remorseless, and it extended to herself as much as to the people unfortunate enough to find themselves in her path. She was careless with her life and everyone else's, and in her indifference Tim saw a cruelty so dark in how readily she destroyed anyone, everyone.

But there were times when Lottie May was more than her actions, there had to be cause Tim didn't picture himself a pliable fool. Something had to be said about the brokenness in her, the emptiness decaying inside. There was more to her than what she gave, she kept her heart locked away without key, but the more he broke her the more he'd seen – he'd shown his own cruelty at his willingness to take her apart and leave with some of the pieces clenched in his fists.

He should've hated her; it would've been easier on them both. But she'd grown up under the impression she was only who people thought she was. And she'd played the part expected of her for so long she didn't know who Lottie May was, who Lottie May could've been. And as he drove to her house he began to wonder if all this time she'd been mourning a life lost.


	4. Playing for Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set in 1x05: The Lord of War and Thunder

Lottie May kept her nose outta Arlo's business, his snot was smeared all over hers but she didn't go near him save the weekend dinners her momma made her attend. That's the way it'd always been between father and daughter and they were fine and dandy to keep it that way. He'd been too old when she was a born, the shit he'd once given had long dried up, and truth be told he never wanted her. An even harder truth, he'd wanted Raylan. And in Arlo's mind Lottie May had always been subpar.

So when she opened her door to find the tentative knock had come from her daddy she knew he wanted something. But her momma raised her right, as had Bo Crowder, and so Lottie May invited Arlo inside and poured him a glass of tea fore sitting across from him in the living room.

"I like what you've done with the place," he said making a show of looking around. "New color?" he asked pointing to the dark blue of the walls.

Her eyes weren't included in the smiling of her mouth, Arlo could be talking about the weather and somehow he was the most suspicious son of a bitch – she loathed the cadence of his voice almost much as the sound. "I thought it went better with the couch," she said raising her own glass to her painted lips. If there was anything Arlo taught her it was the beauty of half truths; she'd painted to cover up blood, after she'd scraped off the brains and caulked over the bullet hole.

"That it does," Arlo said with a nod as he glanced over the few pictures she had; most were of Helen, a few with Boyd and Johnny, and two with Bo Crowder – one where he'd taken her fishing and they both smiled at her impressive catch, and the other a striking black and white one of Bo standing with the pattern of sunlight through leaves over his rotund body. Arlo could tell on sight which ones she'd taken, they had a certain emotion to them; his girl was an artist. But he was shit at sentiment so what he said was, "I'm sure you guessed but I didn't come for the tea, though it is mighty fine."

The curling of her mouth was wry and distasteful; "naturally."

"I never asked much from you, I can at least attest to that, but I need a favor," he said knowing she was as likely to agree as she was to tell him to go to hell. She'd always been a wild card, her loyalty never quite pegged down. "I know you been keepin a sharp eye on Stan Perkins, the little bastard hasn't been payin his rent."

That she had, he'd encroached Bo's territory – she'd been keepin tabs, takin names, she had an unknown hand in his entire business. But Arlo knew she worked for Bo, knew she was in contact still with folks in Miami. And Arlo knew Lottie May didn't do a job half assed, she'd know Perkins' boss, suppliers, dealers, schedule, the details of his store and whether he stored the drugs there or just used it to funnel money. She'd had her eye on him the moment he showed up. If a man, such as Arlo, wanted to cross Stan Perkins then Lottie May was the woman to go through.  
And her blood simmered at knowing that was the only reason he was there, why he'd ever force himself to ask of her anything. She took a deep steadying breath and told her mouth to smile. "What do you need?"

He set his cup down and nearly jumped when she slapped a coaster under it fore the glass touched the table, his gaze quickly meeting hers to see a dare in her eye. Under different circumstances he might've set her straight, whether or not she liked him he was her daddy and she could offer no word or action against him. Under different circumstances he'd be lookin for a reason to yell or raise a hand to her. Helen absolutely hated the two of them together, only Arlo was saddled with the blame cause to her Lottie May did no wrong. But Arlo knew, he could see it in her dark eyes she was riling him up wantin him to hit her.  
But he was the one in need, in her home, and he was made to humble himself. "You know where he keeps his money?"

"In the store's funds," she answered simply knowing that wasn't what Arlo really wanted.

And he knew she knew it, and his hand clenched as he stared at her smug face and her closed mouth. She'd make him beg for it, and if he wasn't so irate he might've appreciated the narcissism she'd inherited from him. "Surely there's something else," he said, his jaw grinding at her silence. "He keep the drugs in the store too?"

If he wasn't Arlo she might've gone so far as to say, 'good boy,' but she resigned herself to shaking her head. "In the house, he just got a shipment he'll distribute this weekend." She watched him smile, watched the easy way his rage turned to glee in the blink of an eye. "I'm guessin you'll let me know if you need anything else."

Arlo stood almost feelin the want to kiss her cheek. "Good to know I can count on you, Lottie girl," he said not noticing the half grin she wore was almost genuine. "And if your brother happens to stop by, this conversation never happened. I can show myself out, thank you for the tea."

If your brother happens to stop by - those words were a vacuum sucking all warmth from her body leaving her frigid. It figured the only reason Arlo would'a sat in her house and asked for her help was cause of Raylan. Arlo may have never said a kind word for him but every time she saw their mutual daddy it was clear Raylan was the favorite. In one quick movement she'd grabbed Arlo's half drunken glass and hurled it at the wall, his engine starting up masking the sound of the glass shattering. She was left with clenched fists a heaving chest and murder in her eyes, so tired of living beneath the shadow Raylan Givens left behind. With trembling hands she smoothed her hair back and fixed her shirt, locking that festering rage inside her overheated skin.

…

Two days later

Just from the sound of the knocking it was clear the owner of the hand was in no mood, loud dull thumps as he started a second round since the first hadn't been answered. Though the reason why was clear when the door opened and Raylan was greeted with the sight of Lottie May tying a robe with her hair piled on top of her head. He was struck again by how pretty she'd grown. "Evenin Lottie," he greeted leaning against the doorframe.

"Hey Ray," she said not knowin why he was on her doorstep so late in the night.

He gave a small, not quite amused smile, at bein called Ray – she'd been the only person who ever called him that. "See now, I believe you wanted me to find out it was you at the bar."

She gave her own smile though it was quite amused. "Well if I really wanted it I could'a called ya 'Way' considerin I hadn't gotten the hang of r's when you left," she said following his hand as he took his hat off. "Since you're here I'm guessing you looked at my record."

He gave a short hum as he stared down at her seein not a care in the world on her face. "You failed to mention it included prison," he said still not over that, or that her small hands could've left someone in a coma. Especially not with how sweet and young she looked with her hair pulled back.

"Really?" she asked cocking a brow, "you were thinkin of taking me to bed and my stint in prison is what I left out."

Discomfort knotted a lump in his throat that he tried to swallow, still very unhappy about that part as well. But his mind was on something very specific and not even the sickening thought of what almost happened could deter him. "You gonna invite me in?"

"Depends on how hard it'll be to get you out. I was plannin on going to bed after my bath," she responded seeing in the firm way he looked at her, let alone that he was there, he'd come with a reason.

At her step back he entered her home and out of habit his gaze roamed over corners and walls for anyone else who might be there fore his eyes settled on her once more. "Just have a few questions before I go back to the hospital; one of which, is why you're not there?" Someone helped Arlo, and given her time in prison Raylan's suspicions were cast heavily on her; his thoughts, she wasn't at the hospital cause she'd taken care of Arlo's business.

She was almost surprised by that question, at least coming from him cause surely he didn't wanna see their father. "I was plannin on grabbing the 'get well soon' card I sent when he had his first heart attack and just resend that," she said, pleasant as if she'd been offering him pie. "But I don't think you looked up my address to ask me that. Were you hopin to try for another kiss?" she asked enjoying the uncomfortable laugh he gave as he shook his head.

"Do you know Stan Perkins?" he asked not even touching a response to her question.

And there was the reason he'd stopped by, cause of Arlo. She looked up at Raylan feeling herself start to burn as she wondered what it was about the Givens boys using her as a gateway between each other. But what she said was, "little guy with the dirty Sanchez mustache?" She watched his eyes as he laughed not seeing the smile reach them as he waited for an actual answer. "I got my bathtub from him, and since he rents momma's house he gave a little discount."

Raylan stared at her feeling his irritation grow bigger than the part of him saying she hadn't given reason to assume she'd been the one to help Arlo, that he wasn't being fair. He was going with his gut and his gut told him that after Helen was roughed up earlier Arlo wouldn't have asked for her help, which left Lottie. "You're not gonna make this easy, are you?" he muttered more to himself. "You know anything about the drugs Arlo took from the house, cause they were planted today for me to find? But Arlo's been in the hospital so it couldn't've been him." He left it open for her to finish, whether to defend herself or to feign outrage, didn't matter which the way she responded was his answer.

"You know I was gonna get back in the bath," she said hiding how very unhappy she was at how quick he'd been to point a finger at her. "You wanna join me?" she asked, her voice lowering, his brows furrowing in alarmed shock. "The answer's either me or my momma, you're gonna be unhappy no matter what. So, I got more than enough alcohol for you to forget we're related cause I ain't got nothin else for you."

He didn't know whether to be disappointed, disgusted, outraged, or hell aroused. His mind was so confused by her cause he couldn't tell if her answer meant she'd helped Arlo or hadn't, nor did he know if she was serious, he didn't know anything when it came to her other than the four year old he'd barely known – the reaction she'd been aiming for. And so with a baffled shake of his head he put back on his hat and turned for the door. "Evening Lottie," he said parting with the same words used in greeting.

"He tried to drown me."

Before he had a chance to understand those words his feet had stilled and his head was turned to look at her over his shoulder. "What?"

She stepped closer and stood with her arms crossed. "Arlo," she clarified so he'd have no doubts. "It'd been a good day, lord knows he had so few. He sat me on his knee and he started tellin me these stories, maybe they were jokes I don't know I think one involved a bear. But he was laughin and," she stood staring at the air in front of her like it held the answers she was looking for, and Raylan stood rooted in her doorway hopin he'd misheard her but he was feeling his chest tighten with every word. Her gaze turned to his face to see his curiosity and dread, and a look so sad she almost wished she'd just let him leave. Almost. "And then he looked at me and I remember not likin the way his eyes turned, like milk that soured. 'You're not Raylan,' that's what he said. And then he told me to fill the sink and do the dishes. He pushed my head under the water til I stopped movin. Feelin me go limp is when he snapped out of it." She stepped closer to Raylan, staring up at his pained face. "In case something like this comes up again let me make myself clear, I'm not doin shit for that man. And you can be damn sure I was disappointed he didn't die today, and don't act like you weren't neither. No you go on and leave, see if you at least say goodbye fore you leave me this time."

She walked to her room and slammed the door behind her, leaving Raylan standing at door weighed down by a lifetime of guilt – her lifetime. She wanted him guilty, she wanted him thinking he owed her, she wanted him to care. At the sound of his tires on the gravel of her driveway she sat on the bed and called her mother. "Hey momma," she greeted. "I might've let Raylan believe I was not the one who put the drugs back in the house, which means he thinks it was you." She listened to her mother's righteous anger, 'mmhmmed' to several of her points, 'you're right,' to several others about how pissed Raylan would be – which wasn't fair to her momma cause she'd always done right by Raylan. But there was one point in particular that stopped Lottie May in her tracks.

"Now I expect to see you here bright and early tomorrow to see your father, and you are to be sweet as pie, you hear me?"

Lottie May raised her head to look at the ceiling. "Yes momma," she said makin sure not grumble cause that'd only make it worse.

"And you bring him some nice flowers, and don't you dare spit in 'em."

She sighed so heavily her shoulders slumped as she pouted, lookin as much like a child as she sounded. "Yes momma."


	5. Two Years Before Lottie May Died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place before 1x11: Veterans

Lottie May blew through the door of the marshal's office like a gust of wind on a stormy day with the promise of destruction and ruin. At least as Tim saw it – cause he'd later learn no one else did – it was the way she swung her hips, heels clicking with each intentionally heavy step, her hair bouncing, her breasts. This woman didn't catch attention, she demanded it.

She sat herself in the chair opposite Raylan's desk, long legs crossed elbows on the armrests leaning back on the chair, she evoked a sense of regality in the air of self-importance about her. Arrogant, proud, dangerous – these were the things Tim was thinking as he watched Raylan look up from his paperwork.

"You summoned me," she said in a pleasingly deep voice – Tim was so used to high chirpy voices, or worse a voice that was a perpetual whine; she may as well have been wearing a red dress with a slit up her thigh, the personification of lust, and as Tim watched her closely he wondered if every bit of it was deliberate.

Raylan shook his head raising a hand. "No, see I called and asked if you were available to meet with me. And for the record you said yes," he said layin it out that she didn't have to come, it hadn't been an obligation.

While her mouth gave a crooked grin her eyes said something a bit different – Tim was staring openly now, curious who this young woman was cause he was starting to see the resemblance, and she had the darkest eyes and he could see them glittering.

"And if I'd said no you wouldn't've come knocking later this evening?" she asked seeing his unamused smile before she turned to the man sitting at the desk next to them, knowing she'd caught his attention when she walked it. "I didn't realize marshals came so cute," she said staring at his very blue eyes – and for the first time Tim felt the weight of her gaze, as though every mistake he ever made was laid bare and she was observing it all, and he thought she must've practiced that look cause lord it was heavy. "I might've stopped by sooner," she added quietly as he continued staring at her motionlessly, unaffected. He was completely cold, no words in his expression for her to read, she had absolutely no idea what he was thinking or what he thought of her. Her stare broke first as she glanced at his name plate; "Tim Gutterson," she said looking up at him again, the left corner of her mouth just barely lifting, "I'll remember that," she said, her voice dripping with promise.

And then she turned back to Raylan – who quickly said "no you won't" - cutting ties with Tim completely, stranding him in the heat of her flirting. There'd been something in the way she said ' _I'll remember that'_ that had the space around his heart tightening, squeezing. And for the first time since she'd walked in he forced himself to look away.

"Why am I here, Ray?" she asked having had her fun with both men and was now ready to get to the point of the matter.

He was still looking between her and Tim, finding within him the mind of a brother not wanting any man's eyes on his sister, before he fully turned back to Lottie May – not knowing her well enough yet to recognize the pride in her eyes that came with getting what she wanted. "What do you know about Bo Crowder's business?" he asked frank and to the point, and before she could think of a response he raised his hand already guessing the indignant way she'd refuse any knowledge. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he falsely assured her. "You live in Harlan, you know the people, you at least know the rumors."

It was as though a sheet fell over her face masking any expression other than the hard way she stared at him, her mouth sat in a straight line and her teeth rested firmly together. She didn't know whether or not to be offended at him thinking she wouldn't know what he was doing, that he was in fact accusing her and leaving out a very big reason why. "And if I say no whose name'll you throw at me to prove I'm lying?" She watched the way he worked his jaw as he ran a hand over his chin, swinging his chair gently as he thought whether or not to answer her.

"Sheriff Hunter Mosley."

That wasn't a surprise, he had a thing for the Crowders and anyone close to them. Her head tilted to the side as though curious; "can you still be a sheriff in prison?"

"Lottie," he said drawing out her name in warning.

"Don't Lottie me," she told him brushing aside his brotherly authoritative tone. "You escaped to my momma's house as a kid, for me momma's house was Arlo's house so I ran to Bo Crowder. And I'm sure the not so good sheriff told bout his niece, so you're aware of his blinding bias to all things Crowder."

She sat calm unperturbed as Raylan looked for something else to say to get an answer outta her – and he truly was Arlo's son cause unless he was desperate Raylan wouldn't dare ask for help, unless he had something to hold against her.

"You never did tell me where you worked," he said remembering his first thought when she'd said 'family business,' and now knowing she was close to Bo his suspicion rose again.

For a long moment Lottie May sat with her brows drawn together as she stared at him, lookin like she was trying to find an answer in his face cause what he'd said made no sense.  
Except Tim, whose curiosity had gotten the better of, heard her voice saying one thing and her face another. Her calm was an illusion cause she was thinking a mile a minute, that's what she was doing now as she stared at Raylan – giving a show of confusion to mask her quick thoughts as she calculated an answer. Tim couldn't have stopped himself from eavesdropping if he'd tried, it was too damn interesting; the moment she smiled he knew she was Raylan's sister, it was in the way her mouth formed the shape, the way her eyes squinted, and she was very clearly a mind above the rest cause for all intents and purposes she appeared completely innocent. A reality show, that's what Tim was watching, and hell if he wasn't morbidly curious enough to watch this train wreck unfold.

"I work at Johnny's bar," Lottie May finally answered, having thought of every establishment she could give and the owner fully have her back when Raylan called; and if there was one person in Harlan besides Bo himself that Lotttie May could count on, it was Johnny Crowder.

Raylan scoffed knowing she'd pulled that out of her ass, there was no way she came in looking sleek and put together, in heels of all things, and worked at a bar. She had to know that was the stupidest answer. "Dammit Lottie," he said knowing what family business she worked in, shit he knew it before he called her down. He'd just been hoping she mightconvince him otherwise.

"You asked," she said simply with a small shrug, unbothered by his quiet exclamation. Her mind had settled and she was gonna wrap this lie so tight around him he'd be too busy suffocating to think it wasn't the truth. "I visit different breweries, big name or closer to homebrewed – we usually go with the smaller manufacturers cause big names mean big price and Johnny's not a good enough owner to afford the real good stuff."

He was almost impressed, she sounded legit and that both soothed and unnerved him cause he still didn't believe her. "At the bar you told me you worked sales and marketing," he said not seeing where that fit into her answer.

"Yeah," she said with a nod, though a few moments more she realized Raylan was waiting for an answer as to how. "Well sales is profit versus what you spent to get there, and marketing's a plan to increase profit," she said slower than her normal cadence, her confusion thick even though she knew exactly what Raylan was asking.

"I know what they mean," he said bordering exasperation similar to conversations with Arlo, "just not how they apply to you."

She raised her arms and let them fall back to the armrests as though she didn't know what more he wanted from her. "I scout distilleries, haggle prices, make sure it's within the budget I planned; which is basically what I said earlier," she said giving attitude, knitting his brow and tightening his jaw but she continued. "I'm also the bookkeeper, making sure we stay on top of our taxes, checking the revenue to see we're on target and then projecting that several months out to plan what needs to be done to keep us in business."

Raylan was caught somewhere between her being a damned good liar or telling the truth, and he absolutely hated not knowing what to think. And he knew he was being unfair that she'd given no reason to think ill of her, but she was Arlo's daughter and close to Bo, and she served time in prison – she was climbing a very steep hill. "Why doesn't Johnny handle those things?" he asked still looking to discredit her.

"Cause he's an idiot," she answered now toeing the line of truth – she did run Johnny's books, told him what he needed to do to keep the place in business, she just didn't do much else. And she was such a fan of half truths cause it was so hard to sniff out the lie.

Without much else to say Raylan resorted to, "you have an answer for everything." It was another reason he didn't quite buy into her answers, they came too freely they explained too much – the truth wasn't that simple and when it was something was up.

"Is that not the correct response to a question?"

"You didn't give me an answer the first time," he reminded her, the whole reason he didn't let himself believe her. "What do you know about Bo's business?" He watched her freeze, her head tilt back as though she'd taken a blow.

"That's what this is about," she said, her shoulders slumping and her back bending under the weight of her words. "You wanted something to use against me to get me talking about Bo." She let that sentence hang for several seconds, let Raylan's arrogant face start to fill with doubt, and when he noticed the hurt in her eyes she sucker punched his easy heart. "This is the first time you asked anything about me, and you couldn't even pretend like you cared." She had him shaking his now cloudy head, had him thinking he made a horrible mistake cause she'd given him the answers he asked for but he'd refused to believe them. He was exactly where she wanted him, and she pressed her lips together and gave a small nod as she stood. "If you have any other questions you don't want me to answer you can either arrest me or shove it up your ass."

Raylan was left sighing as he stood to go after her, seeing in the hurt on her face and from the sound of her voice that he'd been an asshole. Tim glanced between the file in hand and the two as they stood on the opposite side of the glass outside the office. Raylan's back was to him but every once in a while she'd turn her head away unhappily and Tim would see her frowning mouth; she was the epitome of sadness and Raylan was eating it up, touching her shoulder cupping her face saying such sweet apologies and that they'd have dinner and catch up. Tim watched Raylan kiss her cheek and step back into the office, watched her furrowed brows smooth as she suddenly stared thoughtfully at the back of Raylan's head. And then her eyes found Tim, whose gaze was so severe she could feel it through the glass; he expected panic, or anger, some fear to enter her eyes that he knew she'd contrived every emotion shown. He did not expect her to smile, the slow tugging of the corners of her mouth that made her cheeks look impossibly round.

"Stop lookin at my sister."

Tim turned to Raylan asking, "what?" Somehow he was being blamed for her words, her looks, her inability to be ignored. Not listening to Raylan Tim looked back to find her gone, the place she'd once stood empty. And Tim was left shaking his head as he turned back to his file. _Tim Gutterson. I'll remember that._


	6. The Day Tim Broke Lottie May's Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a sort of reference, this would've taken place near the end of season 4.

These were the things Tim wanted to tell Lottie May:

She was too hard to love. Not in the way of difficult, in the way of stone. She was too strong, she wouldn't allow herself.

She didn't think she was good enough.

So she burned, relentless, consumed, uncontrollably, destroyed, inevitably.

She had all the heat of a forest fire to burn everything in her path, and all the cold of the deepest winter to freeze what she left behind.

His once normal, if not fractured, life was upended by the chaos of her own. She walked an offbeat path and with a playful grin she pulled him after her. He clung to her as he followed blindly, watched enthralled as she gave into her desires in the way of a child – she was dangerous, uninhibited, thrilling, but also so goddamn destructive.

She was lewd and wild, skinny dipping in a neighbor's pool her laughter bubbling like a child's.

She was excitement, self-gratification, terrifying, aggressive, spiteful, empty, loyal.

Crippled. She wanted more than what lay in her reach, more than what the life she'd been born into allowed.

She'd stare at the infinite dance of the stars and yearn. Ache. He wanted to sit her on his shoulders so she could pluck a star from the sky to hang around her neck, to remind her she was a person.

And he loved her.

No matter how painful it was, how exhausting she made it, how devastating it could be. Because there were times it was glorious and warm, safe, happy.

Those were the things Tim wanted to tell Lottie May, a list he added to each time he saw her, each time he felt something for her. He constantly ricocheted between hating and adoring her, letting her beautiful insanity encompass his caution so that for a moment he wasn't a broken man.

But he'd never been that kind of man, to actually say those things, to even know how. Instead he put it all on her, shifted the blame to her shoulders so he wouldn't have to bear it's unbearable weight, his words told her it was her fault.

What he actually said was, "I can't do this anymore."


	7. The Unmaking of Bo Crowder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the huge wait, college caught up with me and new story ideas invaded my mind and stole my focus. But I won't leave this story hanging, I enjoy writing it even though the structure of it and the poetics are a bit difficult at times. So I hope you enjoy, as always thank you for reading.
> 
> Also, this chapter takes place from episode 1x11 to 2x01.

Lottie May didn't begin orchestrating Bo Crowder's demise immediately after his release. She'd been quite happy to see him, threw her arms around his neck let him lift her off her feet. And then she told him how she kept busy the past five years; gave him the list of names, cooks, dealers, buyers, all the drug business in Harlan – she didn't have a hand in everything, not if she wanted to stay under law enforcement's radar, but she had enough of a hand to keep cash flowing enough to make up for the shit job Arlo did on collections. But what Bo had been more pleased to hear was her keeping in touch with his 'friends' in Miami – sending money their way as a means to include them in their business, and with Hunter Mosley now behind bars and Bo now released the cartel was happy to start up the old business. She even raised the price, playing nice where Bo hadn't. She lived up to everything Bo had raised her to be, had spent so many years teaching her the ropes; he'd given a holler of a laugh before he swept her in his arms again.

"I knew I could count on you, Lottie," he exclaimed setting her down and cupping her sweet face, planting a sloppy kiss on her round cheek.

Lottie May had done everything. She tracked down every wiff of drugs, coerced amicably and physically with most of the dealers and suppliers, stuck her neck on the line contacting Gio Reyes, stayed in the shadow of local police, and kept money coming in. She'd done everything.

And then he dismissed her. He sat in the office of Johnny's bar with his dumbass goons feelin like the king of Harlan and she, Lottie May his honest-to-god godsend who did a better job runnin things than he ever had, was nothin more than his squire. "You sit down Johnny, Lottie can see to the bar."

He hadn't even looked at her, she'd been nothin but a passing thought as a means to get what he really wanted – another dick in the conversation, cause god forbid a woman with her breasts and hormones and emotions was in any way competent. So Bo didn't see the look in her black eyes, didn't feel the extent of the fire he'd ignited – by the time he realized what he'd done it was too late to soothe her with kind words and empty promises, he was already headin for Bulletville.

…

Lottie May and Boyd Crowder had a relationship fitting of backwoods Kentucky; one part siblings, two parts occasional lovers, and the remaining parts spent silently envious of the other when it came to 'daddy'. But they were all around friends, protective, loyal, understanding.

Until Boyd's most recent excursion to God – she saw him once after he'd been released and not even five minutes past she was ready to strangle God's word outta his mouth. He'd quoted Revelation, compared Lottie May to the Scarlet Woman representing lust and idolatry – Harlan her many waters, the golden cup in her hand not filled with abomination and fornication as said in scripture but rather opium and death – he wasn't quite certain the Scarlet Beast who would destroy her in the end, but he had a guess it too might be Lottie May.

It'd been several days turned weeks and the last thing she'd said to him was if she heard another religious word outta his hypocritical and delusional mouth she might find herself inclined to cut out his tongue. And it was no matter that she'd come to him, that she pulled her car into the middle of his camp and left it running as she climbed out to talk to Boyd only. She gave no impression of respect nor allusion that she wanted him to do her dirty work. Soon as he came round the tent she told him, "I don't wanna hear a word outta you but yes." His jaw had spasmed as he grit his teeth, his not quite brown eyes blazed – but he held his tongue, seeing in her gaze a wrathful desire. "If you were to get word the details of Bo's next shipment would it be intercepted 'fore it reached Bo?"

Boyd had never understood what his daddy meant when he said the Givens girl,  _his_  girl, was a loose cannon that could not live without a man holdin' her reigns. But he understood then, there was no self in front of her destructive she was just chaos and ruin, and those sights were now set on his daddy and Boyd realized most of her life Bo spent tryin to hold her down. Only Lottie May wasn't an animal, there would be no tamin this wild thing, and she very much would bite the hand that fed her – 'specially if that hand only used her for his doin and then told her she didn't matter, 'specially if she loved that man more than she ever loved her own father and so his indifference turned her rabid.  
Boyd saw in her dark eyes a woman who'd finally decided it was enough. The part of him closest to brother, separate from God cause brothers and sisters didn't do the things they'd done, wanted to tell her 'it don't have to be like this Mayflower,' and the other part of him that was indistinguishable from her wanted to say, 'it's about damn time kid.' But what he actually said, swallowing his religious words on striking evil from the world that he so very much wanted to say cause he wanted her to feel the salvation he found – doin as she said cause the moment God slipped from his tongue she'd climb back in her car and drive away – what he said was, "Yes."

And there it was, the beautiful curling of a devious smile that had his hair standing on end with the fear of it ever being flashed in his name; his daddy must've thought the same thing a hundred times before without ever really knowing how interchangeable her loyalty was. A thought crossed his mind as he watched the swing of her hips as she walked back to her car; Lottie May had the face of a woman plucked from the heavens and a spirit carved from the flesh of Satan. His efforts, righteous as they may be, were in vain – she was a godless woman.

…

Lottie May's next stop was Johnny Crowder, or rather she was his cause she found him in his truck waitin in her driveway. "Evenin Johnny," she greeted letting him into her house and getting them both a beer. "Anything in particular you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I'm real sorry bout how things went back there," Johnny told her taking a large swig out of his bottle when her lightless eyes found his. "I tried tellin Bo the only reason there's still a business is cause of you. But you know he's stubborn as a bull, that man is set in his belief."

Her hum of agreement silenced him, knowing exactly why he was there and it was for the very same reason she'd planned on seeing him later. "Pussy's good for one thing and it ain't runnin no business," she said knowing most men in Harlan thought the same thing – and most of those men had a backbone in the shape of a woman who'd born to take shit like a man.

"You know I don't think that," Johnny said seein' her nod, not knowing the thoughts in her head or he might've run back to Bo while he could still run. "When Boyd and I used to talk about takin over you were always the one with the plan to do it, you're smarter than the rest of us Lottie."

A wry grin pulled at the corner of her mouth softening his own face. "It don't take much to be the smartest in Harlan County."

He chuckled at her dry insulting humor, any idea he'd ever had of taking up Bo's business had and would continue to always include Lottie Givens. "I know you went to see Boyd," he told her. "If anyone can bring that boy back to reality it'd be you. And if you've gotta plan I want in."

Downing the rest of her beer she turned to the sink and rinsed the bottle, taking the time to fabricate a plan to get him onboard cause she knew exactly what she wanted from him. Turning back to him and leaning on the counter she said, "We'll take the next shipment that comes in, Miami will be non too pleased with Bo when it disappears and when he falls we'll pick up. And since Mr. Reyes thinks I'm a little country bumpkin that needs explainin to half the time he'd never have to worry bout me gettin ideas like Bo had five years ago."

Johnny would've needed a knife to smile wider than the one that split his face. "Shit Lottie," he explained staring down at her smug pretty face, "you really are smarter than us."

She raised a shoulder pushing off from the counter and headed to her room. "My brain's not competing with my dick for blood," she said hearing him laugh before she began to undress, and then it was enraptured silence as his eyes trailed the length of her body before she stepped into a dress. "I got dinner with momma and Arlo, take me to dinner tomorrow we'll talk more," she said looking over her shoulder with a poised brow to find his eyes still on her hips. And there it was, the reason she would always question how men could run the world when they were so easily distracted.

An hour and a half later she and her momma were walkin the neighborhood to avoid a nosey Arlo, a cigarette in Helen's hand and a beer bottle half full of bourbon in Lottie May's. She told her momma everything; she had Boyd goin one way to blow up the shipment, Johnny another thinking they were gonna take the supplies and use them, and soon Bo who'd have his eye on Johnny after she told Bo her 'suspicions', and they'd all meet her in the middle and she'd end up with what she wanted. Or at least what Lottie May thought she wanted cause if she stopped to think she wouldn't want Bo or Johnny dead – which is what she was planning – but she'd always been quick tempered and impulsive and she wasn't gonna stop.

"You think Imma fool?" Lottie May asked her mother.

"I think you're playin a dangerous game, baby," Helen answered taking a long drag of her cigarette. "Bo Crowder's had a bullet comin for years, I never thought it'd have your name on it," she sighed regretfully.

Lottie May looked at the setting sun, at the horizon bleeding as the sky fell apart and the stars came out to dance to the cricket's song – it was her favorite time, a secret life that awakened while everyone went to sleep. "I'll get Raylan to do it if I can find the reason," she said letting her words slip away into the twilight. Lottie May was a conductor, Bo's death the title of her composition, Boyd, Johnny, Raylan, even Arlo, were the musicians she was orchestrating into grand symphonies that only days later would sound to her like the meaning of regret. The unmaking of Bo Crowder was at the hands of the girl who loved him best. And she turned to her momma like a small child and asked, "do you regret I'm your daughter?"

Blowing her smoke thoughtfully into the cooling air Helen shook her head and wound her fingers around her daughter's hand. "You were made for more than this," Helen told her feeling Lottie's hand like it was a living thing aching to be free, "and you will never be satisfied." That would always be Lottie May's downfall, her need for something to always be happening – making mountains outta molehills for the agony of the climb and the reward of jumping off the edge. "My biggest regret's not sendin you with Raylan, give you more than Bo Crowder and this shit-forsaken place."

Helen squeezed her hand before letting it go, and Lottie May felt the loss of her mother's hand as painfully as she had as a child – as though she could still remember being ripped from her mother's womb reaching for the parts of her that were left behind.

…

It didn't unfold all at once, she schemed with Johnny illustrating lies about how takin this shipment would be the best damn thing – they'd take over the business and make themselves millionaires. It was no matter she didn't mean it, that she didn't so much care for the money cause a hundred thousand to her was the same as a million. It was never about the money for Lottie May, that's why she different, why she was dangerous, it was the thrill of knowin she'd die if any part of the plan fell through and every breath she breathed she was a glorious miracle cause she was still alive. The money was an added bonus, the power was even bigger and she wanted it all. It was the satisfaction of reaping the reward, of playin everyone including those on her side, and when she came out the other side with her hands fuller than anyone else – Lottie May was why hurricanes bore the names of people.

She cracked open her aunt's bible found some good verses to quote to Boyd, visited his camp under the guise of questioning the meaning of her life – and he was so happy to accept her unable to see her dishonesty but knowing her well enough it was there. He poured his soul onto her, tried to fill her so full of God and mercy she'd drown, but she'd drowned long ago at the hand of her daddy and any ounce of faith she might've had was washed outta her.

She came round for the sole purpose of gathering information to give to her brother, throwing tidbits of Bo's doings in with it, warning him against trusting Arlo as a snitch – and when he asked why, cause Raylan would never stop questioning her motives not when she was a Givens, she told him 'you asked what he was doin, so I'm findin out.' And he didn't swallow it all at once, sittin with her in diners or restaurants askin about her day and listening to what she'd 'overheard' at the bar he was so slowly filled with warmth for this girl who looked like him. He laughed, he told her about Florida, about Winona, he became the brother he'd forgotten he was – and he didn't know her well enough but in everything she was doing being with him was when she was at her most honest.  
"I remember you now," she'd told him one evening. "I had this memory of Arlo gettin me orange juice most mornins, makin me oatmeal, and it never made sense cause Arlo never did shit for me. But it was you." She stared at his handsome face, at the blemish under his eyes, his sharp jaw, this beautiful man somehow she'd remember him. "I'd follow you onto the porch when you'd leave, I gave you two kisses,"  
"One for each cheek," he'd finished smiling gently at the memory he didn't realize he had. He stared at her then in the yellow-hued light of the restaurant, all cheekbones and beauty, and he could imagine twenty years bein with her watching her grow up – making sure she did it right. It wasn't until that night he realized how truly he'd failed, and how much she'd had to pay for it. "If I do leave again, would you have any thoughts of joinin me?"  
She stared at him so surprised he even thought to ask, at seeing the earnestness in his sweet eyes, at the realization of what it meant to have someone besides her mother care – it was hot, it smothered, it weighed on her shoulders stronger than gravity. "I guess we'll find out when you ask."

Dealin with Bo was by far the hardest part of her plan , and by default the most exhilarating. She was askin him to trust her over his kin, giving him her suspicions that Johnny was up to something with his many visits to Boyd's camp, and he very well might've confronted Johnny and the whole thing woulda blown in her face. But she'd drawn her shoulders in said Johnny couldn't be workin with Boyd cause Johnny was with them, he was a good man and if they were really concerned they could just ask him what he was doing. And as she'd known Bo told her, "this is why you need me, darlin, you're too soft. If that boy's lookin to take me down he's lookin at you too, and you remember what I told you?" he asked referring to the time he'd promised her he'd keep her safe.  
"Always carry a gun?"  
A grin cracked wide on his round face and he gave a hearty laugh proclaiming how much he'd missed her, sitting with her alone in the dead of night when all but the nocturnal were asleep it was easy for him to be sweet. And she pressed a kiss to his cheek, cutting the corner of his mouth, let it linger. Let him feel her mouth so close to his, let ideas gather in his mind of what could be – what should be cause if the past several days taught him anything it was that shit didn't get done as fast or well as if his girl was doin it for him. And when she had him so fully wrapped around her finger she pulled away, kissed his wide nose, sent him back to business dealin with the mess Boyd made blowing up the shipment and Johnny who he thought betrayed him, kept her plan in motion. Soon as Bo released the Mexicans Gio Reyes had sent with the shipment Lottie May gave them the address to Bo's cabin in Bulletville.

It wasn't until after, after her daddy was shot by Raylan, Johnny was shot by Bo, Boyd was shot by a Mexican, and Bo was killed by the Mexican - all events she had orchestrated into motion – not til after all that, did she realized what she'd done. And it was then, sitting alone on a bed that smelled like Bo wearing nothing but one of his old shirts and drinking the last of his whiskey, did her symphony reach its final melancholy act.


End file.
